Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
I cross the room and open the door, only to suck in a stunned breath to find Eric standing there. His jacket and tie gone, sleeves rolled up, his brightly colored ink that was once up and down one arm now on both. I stare at that ink, intrigued by the random designs—a timepiece, a skull, numbers—lots of numbers and the heat of his stare has me snapping my gaze back to his face, those blue eyes fixing me in a piercing stare.
I can’t breathe. Why do I react like this to this man? “I thought you were room service.”
Those gorgeous lips of his quirk. “I can be.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
I don’t even have time to process him moving, and he’s right here in front of me, his hands on my waist, sending a rush of heat all over my body as he walks me inside the room. The door slams behind him, and suddenly we’re so very alone. “Why wouldn’t I say things like that, princess? We have unfinished business. I know you feel it, too.”
My hand flattens on his chest and his heart thunders beneath my palms, and that tells a story. He’s not as cold as I’d felt he was when I left his office. He’s just as present as I am in this reunion, just as affected by us being together again, but I don’t fool myself into thinking this means anything real, anything lasting. His desire where I’m concerned is all about anger and conquest of the enemy he believes me to be. I can feel it to my core and I don’t like it. I don’t want it. I twist away from him and with a rapid pace, place the coffee table between me and him.
“How did you find me?” I demand.
“I’m resourceful,” he says, his voice pure silk. “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t want me, now would you?” He glances at my champagne. “Celebrating?”
“Wallowing in failure,” I say because it’s true and I prefer every truth I can embrace, plus I’m buzzing. Buzzing makes the world sing with words, in my case, probably too many. “And I can’t seem to drink anything else.”
“I could help you expand your tastes.”
There is innuendo in those words that has me snapping back at him. “But you won’t be around to expand my tastes, now will you?”
“That depends on you.”
“What does that mean? Because if sleeping with you is a negotiation strategy, I don’t want to sleep with you.”
He moves then, so quickly, he’s around the table in front of me, and I have nowhere to go. He’s close, but not touching me, so close I can smell that earthy scent of him again. He picks up the bottle, reads the label and fills my glass before drinking, his mouth now where my mouth was only minutes before. His eyes twinkle with mischief and suggestion as he says, “It’s good,” and then adds, “for champagne.” He sets the glass down. “And yes, I want to fuck you. No, it’s not a negotiation. Fucking you and getting fucked by the Kingston family are not synonymous, even if that’s your intent.”
“I didn’t come here to fuck you, Eric,” I snap, and now I’m angry. “I came for help. Just leave, okay? I told you, forget I was here.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Not until you finish what you started?” I challenge.
“We aren’t done with each other. I think we both know that.”
“We’ve been done for six years.”
“If we were done, I wouldn’t be here right now. You’re the only reason I’m here.”
I cut my gaze, and I’m back living that night I met him, standing on that stage, staring out at the audience and looking for him. “Harper,” he says softly, and when his voice was hard moments before, it’s gentle now.
I force my gaze to his. “I went back to the cottage, hoping you hadn’t really left.”
His lashes lower and now he cuts his gaze, like the idea of me going there actually affects him, and when he looks at me, his blue eyes are laden with emotions I can’t read. “I had to leave.”
“I know,” I say, because I do. He hates that place. He hates me as an extension. How can I want a man that hates me?
The doorbell rings again and it’s sweet relief and my escape. “That’s my food. You can go. I know you won’t help. I knew almost the moment I walked into the lobby today.”
He studies me a moment and turns to the door. My heart squeezes with how easily he’s going to leave, how certain his steps, when I just told myself and him that’s what I want. He opens the door and I hurry around the table to greet the delivery person. Eric steps back and allows the woman to enter, and I expect him to exit, but he doesn’t. “Where would you like it?” the woman asks of the tray in her hand.